


Sing My Love Song

by SugarBee



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Coffee Shops, Domestic, Guardian Angels, Humor, Jealousy, M/M, Temporary Amnesia
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-08-09
Updated: 2013-08-08
Packaged: 2017-12-22 21:20:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,937
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/918142
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SugarBee/pseuds/SugarBee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Dean is twelve, and the first person he’s ever kissed is Heather McAdams from down the street, with her pink ruffles and golden curls that smelled of fake strawberries.  </p><p>The second is Castiel Novak, who does not have pink ruffles or golden curls."</p><p>Angel of the Lord Castiel is assigned to be guardian over a very lucky Dean Winchester, but he didn't expect the job description to include living right next door to the guy, owning a coffee and sweets shop with Gabriel, taste-testing Lawrence's diner cuisine, and being in love.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sing My Love Song

**Author's Note:**

> This story is the Frankenstein experimentation of seeing how much I can crap out based on only gifs, copious fanfics, and very limited knowledge of what is actually happening in the actual show besides the obvious. Sorry. 
> 
> Oh, also I wanted more domestic!AU-still-angels-but-living-in-the-suburbs sort of story, with a little bit of Adjustment Bureau thrown in. There is also a coffee shop. There might also be singing and temporary amnesia. Probably OOC too. This is a feel-good story with a heavy side of rom-com. For all I know this will probably end with weddings and adopted babies and bacon. 
> 
> Also sorry for grammar and spelling.

 

_Prologue: How It Begins_

 

Dean is twelve, and the first person he’s ever kissed is Heather McAdams from down the street, with her pink ruffles and golden curls that smelled of fake strawberries.  

 

The second is Castiel Novak, who does _not_ have pink ruffles or golden curls.

 

He does, however, have really, really blue eyes.

 

They move in next door, under the old rickety roof that had once housed Mrs. Hullman, the lady that would literally yell at Dean to get off of her lawn and then try to spray him with her hose. No moving trucks or anything. Just one day, the old hag was gone ( _finally!_ Dean had thought), and there was a sign that indicated the house had been for sale, and that someone had bought it. 

 

The ancient roof practically renewed itself overnight, changing from a dull and very sad shade of rain-washed brown to a vivid terra-cotta red. Then there was the front porch and its bed of newly sprung up marigolds and poppies. The cracks in the pavement and sidewalks were mended, and the grass trimmed to a precise, crisp length. The house went from being Lawrence’s FamousHauntedMansion to the cover picture of a 1950s Better Homes and Gardens.

 

Dean and Sam, with their cookies and juice boxes, underneath the Midwestern sun, watched their neighbor’s front door, and waited. Mary Winchester had made and wrapped a variety of goods for the bake sale at Sam’s school, and had enough to spare for the mysterious newcomers. Dean had been told to deliver them, and Sam tagged along mostly because, well, because Dean was there. 

 

And still no one emerged from the house.

 

Day after day, knock after knock, no one appeared, and Mary Winchester’s welcoming gift was split between the two brothers in the duration of several warm Lawrence afternoons.

 

Until the day Dean Winchester had woken up on the lawn during another one of these afternoons, with a dark-haired boy’s mouth latched firmly onto his own.

 

Dean shrieks and scrambles backwards, but the boy only peers at him with the blankest expression ever to be worn by an twelve-year old.

 

“What the _hell_!”

 

And woah, Dean is not prepared for the little speech the boy has apparently prepared while he was sleeping.

 

“My name is Castiel,” he says, “and I’m going to be living next to your house for some time with my brother, Gabriel, and I’ve been watching over you because I’ve been assigned to protect you.”

 

Dean hasn’t the time to digest all the words down, but he registers the name and the watching over part.

 

“ _Dude,_ ” he says. “I don’t even know you. What was with the—?” He gestures around his face self-righteously.

 

“Oh.” Casta—Castey— _Cas_ doesn’t even blink. “I have been told by Gabriel that this was the common greeting among humans in this time.” He smacks his lips. “I like this greeting.”

 

Who even _talks_ like that? Dean’s brain translates the wording very slowly into: My brother told me to kiss strangers and to plant one on you so I did and I’m not sorry.

 

“Look—Cas—”

 

“Castiel,” the boy corrects gently. “But you may call me that, if you wish—”

 

“Yeah, not the point,” Dean cuts in. “You don’t go around— _kissing—_ people you don’t know, especially other _boys_. You don’t do that. That’s not a greeting, your brother is an ass and he’s bullshitting you.”

 

Castiel moves up closer, about two inches from Dean’s face, scrunching his eyes.

 

“You have a lot of freckles, Dean Winchester” he says.

 

“Too close, man,” Dean says. “Way too close. And how do you know—”

 

But he doesn’t move Castiel away. Castiel’s eyes were insanely blue, and he smelled of clean air and caramel.

 

“Your soul is bright, Dean Winchester,” Castiel murmurs. “And you are worthy of being loved. Remember that.”

 

“I—what—my—?” Dean blinks. “Are you Mormon or something?”

 

“I am not a Mormon,” Castiel says. “I have been put here to save you.” And he surges forward to kiss Dean again.

 

Warmth rush from Castiel to Dean, pouring down and enveloping them with familiarity. And the only thing Dean could think of was that kissing Cas felt like eating a dozen slices of his Mom’s apple pies, and listening to her sing as she turned the pages of a storybook, and Sammy when he’s looking at Dean with big puppy eyes—

 

“Dean’s got a _boyfriend_ ,” comes the chant, shrill and excited. Dean wrenches away and everything fades as Sam’s smug voice shatters in. “Dean’s got a boyfriend, and they’re K-I-S—”

 

Dean says “Shut it, Sammy—” the same time Castiel stands up and intones, “Sam Winchester.”

 

Dean makes a face and says suspiciously, “Wait, how do you know—”

 

“Are you Dean’s boyfriend?” Sam asks, because he just had to.

 

“No, Sammy,” Dean says. “He’s not anyone, he’s just the neighbor—”

 

“The neighbor!” Sam exclaims, and grabs Castiel’s hands like he’s known him since forever. “I’m Sam. We’ve been waiting for you to move in and Mom made cookies and everything but—oh.” He stops. “We ate it. But Mom probably has more and you can come inside and—”

 

“Cas is busy,” Dean says hurriedly. “Really busy.” He shoots Castiel a look. “Really, really busy.”

 

Castiel quirks his head to the side, thinking. Then he pulls out a little bound notebook, opens it, and scans the contents quickly.

 

“I am not needed here at this moment,” Castiel says evenly. “I must admit I came to see Dean only to satisfy my curiosity. It has been…a while since I’ve visited Ear—this area.” He turns to Sam. “I’m afraid I must decline.”

 

“Oh,” Sam says, disappointed, and acting as if Castiel hadn’t just spoken to the two of them like he’s from the Jazz Age, Jesus. “That’s okay, we’ll save you some the next time you come by.”

 

Dean protests, “He will not _drop by_ , Sammy, are you nuts—”

 

“I would like that,” Castiel replies. “I will see you both soon.”

 

Castiel looks at Dean, who moves backwards in case Castiel decides to try anything, but the boy only fixes him with a stare before walking off the lawn and stopping at the sidewalk. He stands there for a total of ten seconds, watching the empty street.

 

“Your house is on the left,” Sam calls.

 

Castiel starts and turns his head.

 

“Oh. Oh yes, I knew that. Thank you.” And then he turns and goes.

 

“Your boyfriend is weird,” Sam hums.

 

“He is _not—_ ”

 

“I like him,” Sam says. “Also, I helped Mom bake a pie, it’s probably ready by now.”

 

And the day is mostly forgotten after that.  

 

Castiel doesn’t come the next day, or the next. He doesn’t appear for a month, or even emerge from the house that he and his brother supposedly live in. He visits once or twice every two months, always with a “Hello, Dean” and a voice that gets consecutively deeper each time he comes by. He’s stopped the smooching, but the lack of personal space still remains.

 

Dean doesn’t exactly forget about their first meeting, but he doesn’t bring it up either. Normally when random little boys drop from out of the blue and kiss Dean Winchester (not that many do; Castiel may be the only one), Dean would try to stay as far from the dude as possible. But Castiel resembles a lost animal and gives Sam a run for his money when he unwittingly makes his puppy-dog face. Sure the guy speaks all archaic like he stepped out from the Bible, and he acts like the microwave is an alien invention, but Dean can’t detect the harm in that. Besides, when Castiel tells him that he has no idea what apple pie tastes like, Dean _had_ to fix that.

 

(Mary absolutely adores Castiel, and Castiel always goes home with a Tupperware container of baked goods after that.)

 

* * *

 

 

Castiel had fallen on Earth the moment he saw Dean Winchester’s Book rearrange its letters to spell out his name. Humans having corporeal guardians weren’t unheard of, just uncommon enough for Castiel to not have a recent example to build his actions off of. He assumes that this means Dean Winchester must be someone Very Special. He goes to Anael for assistance, because he knows she’s been on Earth long enough to have a frame of reference. 

 

Angels are assigned wards and their Book at the time of birth, which maps out the most basic outline of a human’s life. There are important landmarks, where a human falls in love, for example, that the angel must make sure it happens. Most of the time, the Book remains lines and squiggles for the angel to interpret; Anael says that it has to do with free will. Gabriel says that their Father probably doesn’t know what the hell is going on when he made each person’s Book. So in a sense, angels are less guardians of their human’s safety than making sure nothing goes wrong with preordained events.

 

“You can monitor him from afar or up close,” she says. The vessel she has chosen for herself is a slender woman with dark red hair. It suits her and her personality. “Like as a teacher, or a passerby.”

 

“I think,” Castiel says, “I would like to be close to Dean.”

 

“You can always get a house next to his,” she suggests. “Adjust your vessel’s age and live out his childhood with him.”

 

And that was that. Anna secures him a house next to the Winchester home, and Castiel reads more into Dean’s Book. Which, admittedly, doesn’t say much. He would have to be standing in front of the boy to see his soul and know everything else.  

 

Finding Gabriel had been a stroke of good fortune, or just terrible luck, because at the time Castiel was lost. There are, as it turns out, many towns named Lawrences scattered all across America, and Anael had only given him an approximate location of where Kansas is.

 

Long story short, Gabriel had stolen a Book from the Library on the basis that he was “bored”, and is now the self-proclaimed guardian of a Samuel Winchester. Besides, Gabriel added flowers to the front yard and cleaned up the roof, so Castiel didn’t mind the company.

 

* * *

 

It’s weird, because after that summer, and many more, they’re in high school (or at least Dean is. He’s never seen Castiel there. Homeschooled, maybe?) He’s there to help Sammy with his homework and listen to Dean go on about his many girlfriends with little to no commentary. Which should be completely awkward, but it’s not. He would talk, and Castiel would occasionally nod and take out his little notebook, checking it as Dean rattled on.

 

They’re not exactly friends. Dean thinks of the interactions as a neighbor-y obligation to the community.       

 

“Hey, how come I never see you at school or anything?” Dean asks one night. They’re sitting on the roof of the Impala and definitely not stargazing, no matter what Sam may say afterwards. Dean had taken Castiel out to educate the poor guy on fast food dining, and afterwards they’d driven out to where John used to take Dean and Sam to fish, to a lake encompassed by a stretch of trees and open air. Castiel didn’t seem to want to go home that night.

 

That, or he’s not feeling so hot after six burgers, a piece of pie, and a milkshake. Dean has no idea where Castiel puts it.

 

“I am not required to go to your school, if that’s what you are asking,” Castiel says, like that answers everything when in fact it just leaves Dean more confused. Castiel takes out his notebook and checks inside like he’s confirming something, before slipping it back into his coat pocket.

 

“Then where do you usually go?”

 

“Gabriel owns a café. Sugar and Tricks. Down the corner in the town.” He watches a star very intently. “I work there.”

 

Right. Because Dean totally knew that.

 

“Cool,” Dean says slowly. “Then I guess I’ll just, um, swing by? You know, if you want,” he adds.

 

“I think Gabriel would like that,” Cas says, smiling in a way that makes Dean feel he’s saved ten puppies and a goldfish.

 

The thing about Gabriel and Castiel, Dean learns, as the years fly by, is that sometimes they are there. Some times they aren’t. You don’t go looking for them; they come to find you. Like the fucking Mafia or something, Dean thinks. But they were just there, as if they’d lived in Lawrence their whole lives, only the rest of the world had accidentally passed them by.

 

“Do you actually, you know,” Dean starts, over an array of burgers and fries, “live in your house?”

 

Castiel looks at Dean as if he’d sprouted a second head.

 

“Of course I do, Dean,” Castiel says. “Where else would I go?”

 

“Right. Good point.” But he’s not entirely convinced. “Hey, what’s in your notebook?”

 

Castiel jerks like he’s been shocked, but recovers in a fraction of a second. “It’s a novel.”

 

“Cool, lemme see.” He expects Castiel to hesitate; hell, he’s not going to wrestle Castiel for his super secret diary, he just wants to see why Cas is always bringing that thing along with him.

 

Castiel shrugs, to his surprise. He smoothes out a page and hands it to Dean. It’s lines and lines of pictureless text. Dean’s eyes gloss right over.

 

“It’s Moby Dick,” he explains. “I’ve seen your English curriculum and I wanted to see what you’ve been reading.” He watches the page Dean is on as if he’s scared the words will float off the paper.

 

Dean gives the book back.

 

“Man, if you wanted to read that, you can have my copy. Or take Sammy’s, he probably has three. Me, I’m more of a Vonnegut guy…”

 

Castiel brings him to Sugar and Tricks the following week and he meets the brother. Gabriel, it turns out, is a late-twenties, early-thirties looking guy that runs the place when he feels like it. While Castiel may not have ever tasted pie like a normal person, Gabriel certainly has. That, and a hundred other strange assortments of pastries inspired from shady chocolate shops in Europe. Usually he hangs out with the guests, flirts with pretty customers, and eats the cupcakes on the counter. He also likes to give people nicknames, calling out to “Dean-o” (“That is not his name, brother.”) and “Samsquatch” when they file in. He is inappropriate, sleazy, sarcastic, and obviously favors Sam and thinks Dean is a really interesting circus monkey. He makes Dean want to do horrible things involving a sledgehammer, but Sam seems to like Gabriel to a degree, so Dean just holds it in.

 

“’Sup, Sammich,” Gabriel would say, marking something in his notepad. “How’s my favorite moose doing? How’s school?”

 

And to Dean: “Are you here to ogle at my ass or actually buy something? Cassie’s not here today, big boy.”

 

To Sam: “Straight As? Damn, Sammy, my treat today. Anything on the menu.”

 

To Dean: “Better stop eating too much pie, Deanie, or that girlish figure’s gonna wave bye-bye.”

 

Sugar and Tricks is not a place Dean would want to be caught dead in. The place used to be a bar, complete with a karaoke stage and everything until Gabriel renovated it (he kept the stage, though, and added a grand piano to it, which no one ever plays). Now the area looks more underground poet society coffee shop than local watering hole. The décor is classy, he supposes, since he really doesn’t know (or give) a rat’s ass about interior design. There’s lights hanging from the ceiling and giving off this low, yellow glow. It has a very Harry Potter-slash-hipster vibe, which is probably why Sam likes to hang in there so much. Plus, Castiel sneaks them free coffee and sample cakes from time to time, so Dean isn’t complaining too much.

 

Gabriel has Tuesdays off anyways.   

 

Dean brings his girls to Sugar and Tricks from time to time, because friends bring business to their friend’s brother’s coffee shop, even if said brother is a douchebag. But he rarely sees Castiel when he’s in with Meg, or Jane, or Lisa, or any other female besides Charlie. Naturally he thinks Castiel is women-shy or something, and he tells this to Charlie, when Castiel is behind the counter taking down orders. Charlie only shoots him a look like Dean is one of the dumbest humans to ever dumb.  

                                                                             

The store closes at seven, and if Dean doesn’t have exams the next day Castiel will allow him to stay as he wraps up shop. Dean leans on the counter after he helps Castiel slide trays of unsold cupcakes back to the fridge, watching Castiel go around and switching off the lights.

 

“So,” he says, because Castiel rarely initiates a conversation after his usual ‘Hello, Dean’. “Where’s Gabriel?”

 

“He’s gone home,” Castiel says, and then patches on an extra sentence, mostly because Dean appears to be waiting for more, “Visiting my brothers and sisters.”

 

“I thought it was just you two,” Dean says. “You never told me you’ve got a big family.”  

 

“You didn’t ask.”

 

Of course.

 

“Oh, well.” Dean moves away as Castiel scrubs at the counter with a rag, rubbing at an invisible mark. “Wanna introduce me?”

 

“I have many brothers and sisters.” Castiel stops, looks up at Dean. “I am close to some.”

 

“Like Gabriel,” Dean offers.

 

“Yes. And Anael. And Balthazar. And—”

 

“What’s with the names?”

 

“Our family is religious.”

 

“That explains your name,” Dean says helpfully. “But not the fact that you’ve never had pie before.”

 

“We are named after angels,” Castiel deadpans, ignoring the second comment. The tone would put some people off, but Dean has heard enough by now to know that this is just how Castiel acts. It’s kind of grown on him. Like fungus.

 

“You got a Raphael in there too?”

 

“Yes,” Castiel says. “And a Lucifer.”

 

“That’s nice,” Dean says. He pauses. “Lucifer…like Satan?”

 

“Like the angel,” Castiel responds peevishly, peeling off his apron.

 

“I didn’t know it was legal to name your kid after Satan,” Dean insists. “So where is he now?”

 

“Lucifer?”

 

“Yeah. I mean, with a name like that.” Dean shrugs. “He get beat up on the playground a lot? Must’ve had fun on the first day of school.”

 

Castiel tilts his head in a way that Dean knows means that he had no idea what is going on.

 

“He is…” Castiel seems to be searching for the word. “He is in jail.”

 

Dean notes that Castiel says the word like he’s testing it out.

 

“Ah. When does he get out?”

 

“Hopefully never.” Castiel furrows his brows.

 

Huh.

 

* * *

 

 

“Do you like Cas, Dean?” Sam asks from the dining room.

 

“Sure,” Dean says absently, over the noise of the television. “He’s got a brother named Lucifer who’s in jail. And Gabriel, who should be in jail. What’s not to like?”

 

“No, I mean, like…” Sam puts down his pencil. He walks over to where Dean is. “Do you like-like him?”

 

It takes Dean a moment to respond.

 

“Sammy, do you actually hear yourself talking?” Dean grouses. “Are you gonna ask me if I’m taking him to the prom next?”

 

Sam throws him an ugly look.

 

“Fine.” Then he grabs his homework and goes upstairs.

 

Dean’s gaze lingers upwards until he’s back to his Spanish soap again.

 

* * *

 

 

“Anna wants to work independently,” Castiel tells Dean, out of nowhere. It’s winter break and a Tuesday, which means that Dean gets to drive Castiel to Sugar and Tricks at five in the morning. Castiel pays him in breakfast muffins and coffee, so it evens out. “I think she wants to join me.”

 

“Oh,” Dean said. “That’s cool. I get to meet her then. Is she hot?”

 

“We don’t leave the family business that easily, Dean.” Castiel says, as if Dean is a small child. “And yes, I suppose she is aesthetically pleasing. As far as I can tell from the reactions of people we encounter.”  

 

Dean thinks, So they _are_ from theMafia. He tries to imagine this Anna in a slinky red dress with a gun strapped to her thigh. Hot.

 

“No, Dean, we are not associated with the Mafia.”

 

Oh. Did he say that out loud? “Just a thought.” He watches Castiel work for a bit, opening blinds and taking the chairs down from the tables. “Hey, you’ve still got Moby Dick on you?”

 

Castiel’s hand shoots to his side and fumbles.

 

“Oh, yes. I have not…finished it yet.”

 

He doesn’t take the book out and look into it, like he usually does, but he smiles to himself and finishes writing “Today’s Specials” on the chalkboard.

 

* * *

 

It’s another Tuesday afternoon, which gives Dean free reign in the café. He wanders towards the kitchen to see if he can swipe a raspberry tart without Castiel noticing.

 

“How long has it been since you’ve read Dean Winchester’s files?” Gabriel’s muffled voice says.

 

Dean’s halfway in the kitchen and he freezes, because if Gabriel knows he’s here the guy would probably smack his ass with a spatula. Or grope it, Dean’s not sure which is worse.

 

“I still check it,” Castiel replies quietly. “I am always aware of any changes the Book makes. How long has it been since you’ve even opened Sam Winchester’s Book?”

 

“ _I_ read it everyday, little brother,” Gabriel says. “I think I may need to follow him to college, Cassie.”

 

“Will he be in danger?” Castiel’s voice rises sharply. “Should I come?”

 

Gabriel laughs.

 

“Nothing like that. I just like Sam.” Then Gabriel says in a low voice, “We can’t stay forever, Cas. They’re going to call you back any day now.”

 

“Only interference causes automatic termination, Gabriel,” Castiel says, but he doesn’t sound so sure. “I have done nothing of the sort.”

 

Dean manages to sneak out without invoking Gabriel’s wrath, but he wonders if Castiel heard him, because the guy keeps giving him these looks for the remainder of the day.

 

* * *

 

 

He knows he shouldn’t be as surprised as he is when Castiel kisses him when they are sitting on the roof of the Impala, after another night of taste testing weird shit on the local diner’s menu. In fact, Dean doesn’t even move, just lets Castiel sort of push his lips against his and gets this faint aftertaste of pickles and cherry pie, which is strangely not too horrific a combination.

 

Castiel’s lips are plush and sort of chapped, and he’s not leaning in but expecting Dean to do something. When Castiel opens his eyes and looks up at Dean again, there were ten million things Dean could’ve said. Chick-flick things that would make his insides want to combust but would probably make Castiel smile like Dean’s found the cure to cancer. Things about how abnormally bright Castiel’s eyes are, or how he’s a weird, nerdy little guy who just somehow made a place for himself in Dean’s family. Or how Dean’s pants feel tight and even Clara Simmons, most popular girl in school who’d given him a blowjob, hadn’t been able to give him a boner that quickly, so Castiel deserves a medal or a certificate. Romantic things like that.

 

What actually comes out is, “So you like dudes.”

 

Castiel tilts his head like a confused bird.

 

“Gender does not matter to me,” Castiel clarifies, still three nanometers from Dean’s face.

 

“Oh.” Dean opens his mouth, even if he knows he’s going to regret it, “So you’re bi.”

 

“By ‘bi’ I am assuming you mean bisexual, which I suppose you—”

 

“Cas, I know what it means. I’m just—” He scoots back a little. Castiel’s gaze or intensity does not waver. “Are…you?”

 

“I don’t think I’ve been attracted to anyone other than you, Dean. I don’t believe the classification can adequately apply to me.”

 

Wow. Talk about putting it bluntly. The pressure in his pants does not leave.

 

“Cas, you…” He’s fumbling. He’s Dean fucking Winchester, ladies man, and he’s fumbling. Mostly because Castiel is clearly not a lady, and Dean refuses to have a Big Gay Panic two seconds after Castiel’s put the moves on him. “Cas, you’re my friend.”

 

Dean blinks, and he realizes that Castiel _is_ his friend, and not just in a friendly “Haha, yes, you are my neighbor, how about that weather, eh?” way. Discoveries all around these days.

 

“I am aware,” Castiel replies.

 

“You—wait, what do you mean, ‘You are aware’? What the hell is _that_ supposed to mean?”

 

“I observe,” Castiel says. “You do not form attachments easily. You stay with people long enough to satisfy your needs before you leave them. You’ve come to Gabriel’s café almost every time you are available, and driven me to work at five in the morning at what you call, ‘the asscrack of dawn’. You would not have stayed with me this long unless you wanted something from me, especially since you’ve made it clear that you greatly dislike Gabriel.”

 

“That’s an understatement.” Dean’s tongue feels dry. “Look, Cas…I don’t…I don’t like you that way. You’re my friend, man,” he repeats, then adds on lamely, “I’m sorry.”

 

Castiel frowns.

 

“But the Book—” He pulls his Moby Dick novel from his jacket pocket; Dean wonders why it hasn’t gone ratty and old by now, and what a whale has to do with any of this. He leafs through it, pauses at a page, then just—stops. “Oh.”

 

“What’s wrong?” He leans over a little, to see what pivotal discovery Castiel has made, but Castiel snaps the book shut and stuffs it back into his pocket violently. “Cas, are you—”

 

“It is nothing, Dean,” Castiel says robotically. “I would like to go home now. Thank you for the meal.” He hops off the car and shoves himself into the backseat.

 

“Cas, what—”

 

“I have just remembered that I have an early day tomorrow with Gabriel, I cannot be late. Please take me home, Dean.” He looks so worn and sad that Dean finds that he can’t say anything. He gets in the driver’s seat and turns the engine over. They ride back in silence, the Impala carrying home broken, mismatched children in the loneliest and warmest time of the year.

 

“And Dean,” Castiel says, as he gets out of the car, “please do not attempt to contact me.”

 

Which, Dean supposes, is the most of a ‘fuck you’ he’s ever going to get from Castiel.

 

* * *

 

 

When Dean gets the balls to go into Sugar and Tricks (to get pie for Sammy, he tells himself)—which is about two weeks later—and finds himself wanting to punch the guy that’s currently kissing Castiel against the wall, he knows he’s fucked.

 

And what’s worse is that Castiel doesn’t seem mind. He’s not pushing the dude off, or calling the police, or Gabriel—who is the equivalent of the police in this case—and Dean thinks he really should call one of them.

 

“Does anyone want to share what exactly the _fuck_ is going on?”

 

The guy pulls away from Castiel and stares at Dean the same way Castiel does when he thinks Dean isn’t looking with stormy grey eyes ( _Grey? What the fuck? Are those lenses?_ ). Dean stares back with equal intensity; fucking guy looks like one of the forgotten members of the Backstreet Boys, he could probably take him in a fight. Scratch that; he _definitely_ can beat this guy and his slimy lips six ways to Sunday.

 

“Hello, Dean,” Castiel says, face slightly flushed. His voice is still toneless as usual.  

 

“Yes, hello, Cas, do you want to tell me why you are swapping spit with this—” He wrings his hands to prove his point. The guy raises an eyebrow. “—damn it, Cas, you know what I mean.”

 

And fuck, he sounds almost exactly like a hybrid of his dad, Bobby, and Sammy. Not a happy image. 

 

The guy says something to Castiel, a foreign language or somewhat, that sounds to Dean like the bastardization of Latin and Martian. Castiel replies in short, then the guy is off and out the door.

 

“What the— _Cas!_ ”

 

Castiel turns to take something from the counter and Dean realizes he’s cradling the hugest bouquet of roses that nearly covers his face when he holds it up. And a box of chocolates with a teddy bear strapped to it with a ribbon. 

 

“Ouriel is courting me,” Castiel explains, like he’s a little Victorian virgin who has suitors lined up at the door. “He told me he’s read up on the process and this is what hu—people do to show their interest.”

 

Ouriel. _Ouriel?_ Castiel is being hit on by some guy called _Oreo_? Dean wants to laugh and cry at the same time.

 

“Are you interested?” Dean manages to choke out. “In this Oreo guy?”

 

“It’s a nice gesture.” Castiel shrugs, and makes to look for a vase. Dean wishes he could just throw the damn thing in the trash. “It’s nice to be wanted.”

 

And fuck, if that doesn’t just hit Dean like a ton of bricks.

 

“Look, Cas—”

 

Castiel suddenly lashes out with smoky anger, barely restrained, “Dean Winchester, I am here to complete a job. You just happen to come with it. Do not presume you know anything about me. You’ve made your intentions clear, and I understand, so you do not get to judge my actions or dictate what I am allowed to do.”

 

Really, the words shouldn’t be as threatening as it is, coming from a guy being practically drowned by flowers. Castiel leaves for the kitchen in a huff and Dean is left standing there, feeling like an ass and, as Charlie puts it, “the dumbest human to ever dumb.”

 

“Fine,” Dean says. “Go run off with Oreo guy.”

 

It doesn’t sound very dignified, even to himself.

 

* * *

 

 

“Hey, look at if this way,” Gabriel says, popping a maraschino cherry in his mouth. It’s just as syrupy sweet and artificial as he remembers. He loves food so much sometimes. “At least you won’t get immediate termination.”

 

“My name is no longer written in Dean Winchester’s timeline,” Castiel says mournfully, placing a cherry on the tip of the frosted cupcake. “I do not understand. It has always been in there.”

 

“Maybe Dean-o doesn’t need a guardian anymore.” Gabriel flips through the pages, humming to himself. “At least, he doesn’t need someone who has to be corporeal and follow him around.” He reads, “’Mechanic, stays in Lawrence.’ Nothing out of the ordinary. Everything looks ship-shape.”

 

“I altered the age of my vessel so that I could follow Dean throughout his childhood. Have I interpreted the Book incorrectly? The—”

 

“Nah,” Gabriel says. “These Books are meant to be cryptic as shit. You get a general outline of their lives and you have to mad-lib the rest in. That’s kind of your basic job description. If you see your name traveling along with his in the timeline, that’s great. If it’s not there, who cares?”

 

“Our Father created these Books for a reason, I must have received it because Dean—”

 

“Sorry, Castiel, but I’m ninety-nine percent sure Zachariah hands those party favors out randomly.”

 

Castiel finishes the last cupcake and pushes the tray into the display case.

 

“If there is no more work for me, then I believe I should return to Heaven,” he says.

 

“No fucking way,” Gabriel retorts, mouth stuffed with cherries. “And leave me to run the shop? I don’t think so.”

 

“You have Sam.”

 

“Yeah, well, Sam is going off to Stanford someday because he’s a smartass, so I’ve got like, what, five more years in Lawrence? You can’t do this to me.”

 

“Will you follow him to Stanford, then?”

 

“Maybe,” Gabriel contemplates. “I’d like to. His Book hasn’t changed it a while. But even if it doesn’t, who gives a crap?”

 

“Michael might.”

 

“Whatever. He’s got a stick up his ass, anyways.” Gabriel wags his eyebrows. “So I heard you’ve gone and nabbed yourself an archangel, Cassie? When’d my brother turn into a little minx, huh?”

 

“I did not. I’ve been here the whole time, doing your work,” Castiel says pointedly. “Ouriel found me.”

 

“Of course he did. And left you a fuck ton of flowers.”

 

“I put them on the tables. I think they look nice.”

 

“Are you going to send him a little something back?”

 

“I do not have anything in mind.”

 

Gabriel makes a cackling noise.

 

“Are you playing hard to get, Cassie boy?” he says gleefully. “Or is it because of Dean?”

 

“No.” Castiel’s expression turns stony immediately. “I have a job as a guardian and running _your_ shop in my spare time. Ouriel has his own ward to watch. I can’t get mated now.”

 

“Unless Dean-o comes in with some daisies and you’re gone. Fuck, if Dean throws you a sprig of parsley you’d go nuts.” He assesses Castiel’s blank stare. “Well, metaphorically speaking, anyways.”

 

“I will not interfere with Dean’s timeline.”

 

“Yeah, well, Michael told everyone the same thing but I promise to Father that someday I will get into Sam’s pants. Amen.”

 

“Sam is thirteen, brother.”

 

“Pretty sure there’s going to be a growth spurt in there somewhere. At least, I think I saw one the last time I checked…”

 

“Don’t do stupid things, Gabriel.”

 

“Be careful,” Gabriel warns, grinning. “Sammy might get annoyed if he heard you called him stupid. Besides, I picked the smart Winchester. You got stuck with the short straw, little bro.” He opens Ouriel’s chocolate box and pops three in his mouth. “Hey, these are pretty good. You should bake them into the cupcakes.”

 

“Gabriel, get off of my counter.”

 

* * *

 

 

When Christmas is just around the corner, Gabriel begins hanging an unholy number of mistletoe underneath every doorway and above the tables. Bushels and bushels of mistletoe like giant shrubbery dangling from the ceiling. He also outfits a tree near the piano and sticks the creepiest looking angel-doll on the top.

 

“It’s Cassie,” Gabriel explains to Sam, who eyes the figurine distrustfully. “I made it. See, its eyes follow you everywhere, just like the original…”

 

Castiel reenters with a tray of mugs. Gabriel plucks two off and slides one over the Sam, who looks up to Castiel gratefully. Before Castiel can sit down, however, Sam turns to him and spews out, “You have to talk with Dean.”

 

“But the Bo—” Castiel catches sight of Gabriel’s hand motions and quickly corrects himself, “I am the last person Dean wants to see right now, Sam.”

 

“So it did have to do with you!” Sam exclaims. “Dean won’t say anything about it, he just kind of gets all pissy when I mention you—” He narrows his eyes. “What happened?”

 

“Ooh, I’ll tell it,” Gabriel volunteers before Castiel can stop him. “Cassie kissed Dean under the stars and Dean freaked out like a little girl and Cas told him to never talk to him again.”

 

“Not in those exact words,” Castiel tries to remedy.

 

“But he means it like that.”

 

“But Dean likes you,” Sam blurts. “He’s just too emotionally constipated to actually tell you that he likes you better than his anime and really gross magazines combined.”

 

Gabriel snorts in his cocoa. “Wow, thanks for sharing, Sammy—”

 

“And he’s not going to say that he needs you because that’s just how Dean is. Come on, Cas, you’ve known him since sixth grade—” _Longer than that_ , Castiel thinks. “—he’s not happy.”

 

Castiel considers Sam’s hopeful face, and then turns to Gabriel, who is mouthing “Fuck the Book!” silently behind the younger Winchester. He resists the urge to pull out Dean’s Book to check just one last time, to see if his name is back on the pages that he’s spent most nights reading.

 

Fuck the Book, indeed. He wonders if being around Gabriel is a bad influence for him or not, even if the guy is supposed to be an archangel.

 

“I’ll go see him when we close up shop,” Castiel relents, and Sam smiles brilliantly.

 

When he gets up to bring the emptied mugs to the sink, he slips Gabriel the Book and hisses, “I hope you know what you’re doing.” His coat pocket feels lacking without the reassuring weight of Dean’s Book in it.

 

He winks. “I always know what I’m doing.”

 

-

 

“Hello, Dean.”

 

Dean, who is sitting on the roof of his car, starts and turns around. “ _Cas_?” He doesn’t sound happy to see him. “What are you going here?”

 

Locating Dean hadn’t been difficult, an even if Castiel isn’t an angel he would have still known where to look. A breeze blows over from the lakebed and Castiel notices that Dean’s not angry, he’s scared.

 

“Looking for you.”

 

“On foot?” Dean peers behind Castiel. “This place is at least six miles from town, Cas. How’d you get here? You don’t have a car.”

 

“I—” ‘Flew’ would be a good word, but not necessarily the right one to use in front of Dean. “I took the bus.” Dean looks skeptical, so Castiel adds, “I walked the rest of the way.”

 

“ _Why_?”

 

“To bring you back.”

 

Dean laughs hollowly. “Sammy put you up to this?”

 

“No.” Not completely, at least. “I needed to talk to you.”

 

“Okay,” Dean sighs. He jumps down and comes so that he faces Castiel. His expression is resigned. Castiel sees everything from uncertainty to fear radiating from Dean. “Talk to me.”

 

“You are afraid you will be alone,” Castiel says.

 

“What the fuck are you, a mind reader?” Dean says, cracking a weak smile.

 

“No,” Castiel replies. “You just think very loudly.”

 

“Yeah, well—” Dean holds up his hands, defeated. “What are you going to do about it?”

 

“Forgive me,” Castiel says softly. _I was only following the Book._ “I didn’t know.”

 

“Cas, in case you missed the memo, I was the one being the asshole to you. You didn’t do shit.”

 

“Sam says you are emotionally constipated.”

 

“I _knew_ he had something to do with this.” Seeing Castiel’s expression, he sobers quietly. “I should have said something that night. I don’t have the greatest track record with relation—um, people.” _And people usually leave in the end,_ he wants to say, but finds that he can’t.

 

Castiel reaches up, cards his fingers through Dean’s hair, and pulls him down.

 

“I was sent here to protect my ward,” Castiel breathes, and feels Dean’s heart pound against his. “I had faith he would be someone special. I did not expect I would become close to him.”

 

“Um, Cas, are you feeling okay?”

 

“The Book tells me of your future and past. I followed my duties for the five years I’ve lived in Lawrence with you, and I never questioned anything.” He imagines the Book shuddering in his coat if he hadn’t handed given it to Gabriel, one last time, until all Castiel can feel is Dean’s breath rolling onto his lips in tiny wisps, and the arms that had begun to wrap themselves around his waist. “Dean Winchester, in the whole of my existence I have never met anyone more irritating—” (“Gee, thanks a lot”) “—or deserving of love than you.”

 

Dean’s freckles stand out against the red spreading across his cheeks. “That’s exaggerating, isn’t it—?”

 

“No, Dean Winchester,” Cas murmurs. “Because I loved you.”

 

“Oh,” Dean whispers, sounding smaller than ever. “Pulling out the full name, huh.”

 

“And I am still in love with you, despite all.” Castiel pulls him in and closes the last few centimeters of space between them. “And you are worthy of love, don’t ever doubt that.”

 

He kisses Dean like he’s drowning. He pushes because he’s never wanted this badly, and Dean pushes back. 

 

“So,” Dean asks, when he pauses for breath, “was that like a greeting, or…?”

 

“No, Dean.” Castiel could feel his lips curving upwards. “That was not like a greeting.”

 

“Oh. Good,” he says, tightening his hold. “That’s good. That’s really great.”

 

When Castiel kisses him again, Dean doesn’t pull away.

 

So Castiel lets his eyes close, finally.

 

* * *

 

 

No word from Castiel in three hours. Must be making out with Dean-o in that junkyard car of his, Gabriel thinks. When Sam is still watching him, Gabriel goes around and lifts the chairs onto the tables, cleans up the unsold pastries, and performs other mundane chores that Castiel usually does for him for the sake of his human audience. After he sends Sam home with some wrapped cookies Castiel had made the other day, he slumps in a heap on a nearby couch and huffs. Human work is so tedious. He has no idea how Castiel can bear it.

 

Gabriel snaps twice and the rest of the furniture float to their original positions; the knots holding the curtains unravel, and most of the lights flicker off.

 

“Let’s see what you’re up to now, Cassie boy.”

 

Gabriel snaps again, and Dean’s Book floats towards him lazily, blank pages fluttering like onionskin wings. He plucks it out of the air, settles in his chair, and smoothes his hand over a random page to will words to appear.

 

He waits.

 

Nothing happens.

 

Gabriel tries again. Snaps, chants, quick spells. Nothing works. The pages remain blank and unblemished.

 

“Oh no.”

 

He turns to the cover, where Dean Winchester’s name is inscribed with loopy script. Underneath would be his guardian’s name: Castiel. Nothing has changed.

 

Until the corner of the page starts to bleed red ink. The splatter slowly shapes itself into an ugly stamp right below Castiel’s signature, bearing the words, _Guardian_ _Status: Suspended._

“Oh, _shit_.”


End file.
